


every color illuminates

by brosura



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Collaboration, Dramatic Boyes Come Get Your Dramatic Boyes here, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Art, THANKS PIKA, art included
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 04:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13780038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brosura/pseuds/brosura
Summary: Prompto sees the sky around Noctis darken as quickly and surely as he fades towards a dark of his own. He hears the peal of thunder.He sees Noct’s back, steady and unwavering, still bright with those sparks of energy and untouched by the black spots at the edges of his vision.He sees Noctis tilting his head up, to the heavens, and then nothing.





	every color illuminates

**Author's Note:**

> "If anything happens to me-"  
> "I _won't_ let anything happen to you!"
> 
> but i will 
> 
> and so will _fuuuckin_ [PI](http://burbled.tumblr.com/)[KA](https://twitter.com/bvrbled) who lured me into a ~~cycle of Sad~~ Good Collab with [THESE DODOLES](https://burbled-xv.tumblr.com/post/171219633377/here-are-some-drawings-i-did-as-a-collab-with) and READD my WIP and MADE SOMETHING that is FEATUreD in THIS FIC (thank u so much pika)

_“So that’s what it feels like,”_ is the only thing Prompto can think.

It’s strange, being stabbed. At first, it's just like a punch to the gut. But it goes deeper, somehow. It lingers for longer, sears instead of stings. It’s even stranger that the blade’s still in him, held in the grip of a black-eyed Yojimbo. He blinks down at it with a detached kind of realization as the cold feeling piercing through his gut turns to _hot._

He doesn’t scream, not when it goes into him, not when the Yojimbo pulls it out of him far too quickly, as sharp as when it went through. He doesn’t scream, doesn’t think he can. He whimpers, though, something high-pitched and panicked. He can hear the pitiful noise of it over the ringing in his ears. But he doesn't scream.

The screaming he hears isn’t his.

It’s sharp in his ears all the same, over the ringing, the sounds of blades clashing. He hears it even as he falls to his hands and knees, lifting one shaking hand to the burning ache of his wound to come away wet with a deep red. Some objective part of him knows he’ll survive this. He’s almost sure. He’s seen Gladio come back from worse. All he needs is some magic, some time.

But it’s _scary._ He was already wounded before this - a couple of deep cuts to his legs and good arm - and he’s never been hurt this badly before. He knew it would be dangerous when he volunteered to protect Noctis. He also knew he would readily face that danger if it was for Noctis. Die even, if it came to it. But it’s still so much at once, the hot feeling in his gut, the warmth of his own blood on his hands, the taste of iron.

He tries to focus on the voice instead, because it’s Noctis.

It’s Noctis.

Noctis, who runs to him with panic written in every line of his face. Noctis, who skids to a stop on his knees in front of Prompto. Noctis, who runs frantic eyes - _Is he crying?_  - over Prompto, searching for the wound.

Prompto can see in the grim set of his brow the moment he finds it.

And then Prompto feels Noct’s hand over his, pressing it over the wound. He flinches at the sudden pain the pressure adds, and he feels Noct’s other hand come up to lift his face until he can press their foreheads together. Noct’s skin is cool against his own. It makes things a little easier to ignore.

Noctis says something to him, and he can’t parse apart the words even though they’re so close, but he can hear the panic and concern in his tone.

_“Sorry, Noct,”_ he wants to say. _“Just take care of yourself.”_

But the only thing that comes out is Noct’s name, strained and tired. He can feel himself fading towards unconsciousness, can feel himself leaning more heavily against Noctis until the press of their foreheads is almost painful.

Then suddenly, Noctis pulls away and Prompto almost wants to say _“don’t”_ but he doesn’t. He finds he can’t say anything as he blinks at Noct’s face.

The furrow of his brow twitches between anger and anguish, eyes squeezed shut as he shakes his head. The hand he brings up to cradle his forehead is red with Prompto’s blood, and Prompto wishes he could do something as Noctis curls in on himself against the pain. But he can’t do anything himself, only watch with a desperate urgency that isn’t strong enough to cut through the haziness of his thoughts.

When Noct’s eyes finally snap open, they’re bright with a murderous kind of determination and that shock of glowing pink color Prompto has only seen a few times, when situations were dire.

He gives Prompto one last look, mouth set to a tight line, and Prompto can just barely feel the stroke of a thumb over his cheek, feather-light.

Then Noctis stands up and turns back to the fray. Pink sparks of energy dance about his skin as he takes another step towards it. Prompto sees the sky around Noctis darken as quickly and surely as he fades towards a dark of his own. He hears the peal of thunder.

He sees Noct’s back, steady and unwavering, still bright with those sparks of energy and untouched by the black spots at the edges of his vision.

He sees Noctis tilting his head up, to the heavens, and then nothing.

* * *

 

* * *

_“-metal,_ Gladio,” Prompto hears as he starts to fade back into consciousness. It’s close and familiar enough for Prompto to feel safe, even though the voice itself wavers just on the edge of nervousness. _Ignis._ “Rather conductive, for a situation like this.”

“Don’t have anything else,” comes Gladio’s telltale grumble, half-annoyed, half-apologetic. “And it’s more for the, er, the _chunks,_ you know?”

But Ignis doesn’t get a chance to respond because Prompto _remembers_ just where he is. He sits up with a start, nearly bumping into Ignis - who’s hovering over him with a half-cracked potion - on his way up. He’s too quick, though, and has to fall back to his hands to cough up whatever he’d unsettled in his stomach onto the dirt.

“Look who’s finally joining us,” Gladio teases, but it’s easy to hear the relief underneath. Prompto blinks to the sound to find him crouched between them and what appears to be a _violent_ , extremely localized thunderstorm, shield at the ready. _Metal_ shield. He understands Ignis’ concern. “Welcome back, blondie.”

He gives Prompto that toothy, triumphant grin and Prompto can’t help but return it with a shaky one of his own. There’s a hand on his shoulder and he follows it to find Ignis crouched next to him, expression a mix of concern, amusement and that familiar exasperation.

“Hold still, Prompto,” Ignis says. His tone is sharp, but the hand that splays over his back is gentle and warm. “You’re not quite done healing yet.”

And he sure isn’t. Prompto can feel the leftover ache in his body enough that he doesn’t protest and sits back on his heels as Ignis finishes cracking the potion over him. It’s that same strange but comforting chill that rushes through his body whenever he uses Noct’s magic - like a cold towel on a burning, feverish forehead - and between that feeling and Ignis’ hand still steady on his back, he thinks he feels safe again.

The panic of that battle still sits heavy on his mind, though. The flashes of blood and pain. They’re _memories_ now, bad ones, and he’ll have to carry the weight of them with him from here on out.

But he almost feels safe again.

Almost.

“Where’s Noctis?” he croaks, the first word only just barely making it out. He coughs in an effort to clear his throat and tries to ignore the familiar taste of iron on the back of his tongue as he does so.

Ignis sighs, gesturing behind Gladio to the _massive being of ethereal light_ now standing prominently in the battlefield, crackles of lightning shaking his building-sized staff.

They’d seen the Astrals before, after Noct’s trials. Only a handful of times, when they were nearly _“back to the wall”_ desperate. It had felt comforting then, almost like a safety net. They had never been this _close_ whenever it happened, though. Ignis or Gladio would read the change in the battle and drag him off to hide somewhere, usually down in some ditch or behind a set of rocks.

But this time, they’re close enough that Prompto has to crane his neck up almost painfully to see Ramuh’s face, can almost imagine his wise, knowing eyes turn down to acknowledge him as the final crackle of lightning fires into the battlefield to a cacophony of screeches.

Prompto’s jaw drops with an audible thud.

Or, it doesn’t.

“See,” Gladio insists, shaking his shield with a pointed look to Ignis. _“Chunks._ Magic’s _messy._ ”

Prompto doesn’t hear Ignis’ response, though, because he’s getting to his feet, numb in a way that’s so different from earlier, when he was sprawled on the ground and clinging to life. The two of them fall quiet though, as he walks forward past Ignis and around Gladio, pulled by some force towards the battlefield.

He watches with wide eyes as Ramuh’s huge form bends down towards him, one of the god’s arms moving forward as if reaching for Prompto. He watches as Noctis - so small in comparison to the Astral on whom he stands but somehow just as ethereal, just as full of wonders - steps down from his palm onto the solid earth.

He doesn’t notice as Ramuh stands and only distantly notes the way he starts to fade with the storm he came from.

He can’t focus on that, because there’s Noctis, skin still dancing with those pink sparks of energy, eyes still glowing in the dim light of the storm.

Noctis who is crying from the still glowing eyes that meet Prompto’s.

There’s a moment, just a moment, where there’s still that distant, pained furrow in his brows from before, from when Noctis had let go of Prompto and brought down the heavens. There’s still a glint of that steely determination. Prompto swallows hard, caught between guilt and gratitude and pure awe. He’s not sure there’s anything he could have done to deserve any of this. Not Noct’s tears, not his fury, not the look on his face as he descends from the hand of a god. He hates that he’s done this to Noctis and cherishes it all the same, and the image of it burns itself to his memory.

But Noct’s stormy expression clears just as quickly as the skies do when he meets Prompto’s eyes.

Noct’s shoulders shudder visibly with a shaky intake of breath as a wobbly smile starts at the corners of his lips. He’s still crying, but that wobbly smile makes it to his eyes and they glint with something brighter and warmer than whatever had been in them before.

Then Prompto doesn’t have time to react before Noctis closes the distance between the two of them, pulling Prompto bodily into his arms with enough force it startles a breath that sounds close to a short, relieved laugh out of his lungs. Prompto feels moisture against his neck as Noctis buries his face there, Noct’s styled hair is prickly against the skin of his cheek.

_He never wanted to make him cry._ Prompto’s hands come up to return the gesture, burying fingers into the shirt of Noct’s back the way he wanted to before. When Noctis was holding him close with _fear_ in his eyes, when Noctis was suffering that inconceivable pain that came with being born to the favor of the gods, when Prompto was so close to death he couldn’t do anything but watch.

_“Don’t go,”_ he had wanted to say. He still can’t say it now, but he holds Noctis close, feels the weight of him in the circle of his arms and pressed against his chest.  

And Noctis somehow holds him tighter, buries his face deeper into the crook of Prompto’s shoulder.

It’s almost painful for a moment, but it’s a feeling that fades quickly to something warm and familiar, stirring a kind of giddy relief in his chest as his vision blurs and his eyes start to sting. It’s not something he thought he’d feel again so soon, but it’s Noctis. And Noctis has always brought out things in Prompto he never expected of himself, things he didn’t think he still had in him.

He feels safe.

“Hey,” Prompto croaks, letting his fingers relax over Noct’s back. “I made it.”

“You did,” Noctis laughs, muffled into Prompto’s shoulder. He sounds relieved, overjoyed, breathless. A lot of things at once. “You made it.”

And because he doesn’t know where else to start, he leans his cheek onto Noct’s head and says, “Thanks.”

Noctis laughs again and it’s warm and ticklish against the skin of his neck. “Don’t mention it.”

“And,” Prompto starts. His teeth dig into his lip, but not to the point of any pain. He’s not sure where else to start with this, either. “I’m sorry.”

_“Don’t_ be,” Noctis says, almost _scolds_ , and Prompto feels him tighten the hug. A shuddering breath flutters against the fabric of his jacket. “Shit happens to all of us, all of the time. It’s not your fault. I just...”

Noctis trails off and shakes his head, awkward as it is against Prompto’s shoulder.

“I guess, I just- I wasn’t prepared for it to happen to _you,”_ Noctis admits. And it _is_ an admission, in that soft, tentative voice that Prompto is familiar with from late nights and hard conversations. He runs his hands up to Noct’s shoulder blades to hold him closer. Noctis lets out a shuddering laugh with the motion. “So, _I’m_ sorry. For losing my cool, and all.”

“Losing your cool?” Prompto jokes, but his voice is still breathy with emotion. He can feel the water that had been gathering in his eyes threatening to spill. “You summoned a _god,_ dude. That was the definition of cool!”

Noctis laughs again, breathy and overjoyed, and it’s one of the best things Prompto’s ever heard.

“That, _and_ the definition of reckless,” Ignis pipes in. Prompto jumps a little at the sound of his voice. He’d almost forgotten they were there. He turns back to the sound of it to find Ignis and Gladio standing close to them, close enough for Ignis to give Prompto a pat on the shoulder before moving on to squeeze Noct’s. “We couldn’t move Prompto in his condition, so we got a rather, ah, _front row seat_ to that little display.”

“Thanks,” Noctis says, muffled as his face remains resolutely glued to Prompto’s shoulder. “And sorry.”

“And the definition of _dramatic,”_ Gladio says, warm and amused despite the smirk on his face as he shifts onto his back leg and folds his arms. One thick eyebrow raises meaningfully, but Noctis can’t see it. “How come you don’t cry for me when I get hurt?”

“Because I keep hoping it’ll stick,” Noctis throws back, but the effect of it is muffled into Prompto’s shoulder.

“Aw, Gladio,” Prompto teases in his still shaky voice. “He _does_ cry, he just doesn’t let you see it! I get special best friend crying privileges. _Very_ exclusive.”

“Apparently,” Gladio says, knowing smirks on his lips. “You also get special best friend ‘summon a god for you’ privileges, too.”

“It just _happened,_ ok?” Noctis mumbles. He sounds almost bashful. “It was a lot.”

“Aww, buddy, I know,” Prompto coos, half-joking, half-serious. He means the comfort behind the warm hand he brings to the dip between Noct’s shoulder blades to rub soothing circles there, though. “It was a lot for me, too. Getting stabbed and all.”

“And for the first time, too,” Gladio says, slapping the back of his head gently, but it causes Prompto’s cheek to bump against Noct’s head just slightly. There’s a small annoyed groan against his shoulder. “Never a fun thing to happen, but you did just fine, all things considered. Better than Prince Overkill over here.”

“Hey, that’s an idea, though,” Prompto says with a laugh.

Noctis, somehow, seems to know the morbid path where his mind has gone and says, “Prompto, no.”

“When we’re in a tight spot and need an Astral in a pinch,” Prompto continues, undeterred. “One of you guys can stab me and wham! Summoning.”

“Too _soon,_ Prompto,” Noctis groans again.

“It doesn’t have to be like, a big, all-the-way-through stab,” Prompto laughs, but rubs between Noct’s shoulders anyway. “Just a little poke, y’know?”

He can see in Ignis’ face that he’s amused by this turn of the conversation and anticipates when he huffs a laugh and adds, in that flat tone of his, “No need to _worry,_ your highness. I’ll be sure use my shortest knife and minimize damage to the vital organs.”

“You _guys,”_ Noctis complains.

“Ok ok, I’ll stop! Sorry, buddy,” Prompto says, his voice still shaky even as the smile that accompanies his soft laughter is enough to make the tears in his eyes start to spill.

But it’s with a different kind of emotion this time, as Noct’s grumbles become increasingly annoyed even as he holds Prompto tighter and nestles his face against Prompto’s shoulder. He’s giddy and warm and flushed with adrenaline as another of those feelings stirs in him that he didn’t know he had before Noctis. Something that understands this is where he’s supposed to be, standing there with Noctis as Noctis stands with him. Something like the relief of finding your way home.

He chances moving one hand to run through the hair at the back of Noct’s head. It’s a little sticky with product, but it feels right.

The way Noctis relaxes against him feels right, too.

“Hey,” he says, playing with a few strands of Noct’s hair. “I really mean it, y’know. Thank you.”

“I know,” is Noct’s answer, soft against his shoulder. “And thank you, for everything.”

Prompto smiles and he knows Noct can feel it with the way his cheek is still pressed to his head. “Don’t mention it.”

**Author's Note:**

> here's some ~~shitposts~~ dialogue that didn't make the Final Scene because i wanted it to be Soft but i want u to know happened
> 
> ignis: i wish u two would stop hugging now i'm going to have to clean blood out of both of ur clothing
> 
> gladio: why didn't u just give him a potion u were already over there  
> noctis: i was busy ok  
> gladio: but u were already over there
> 
> prompto: no seriously we should look into the stabbing thing. it's like when u ring a bell and a dog salivates but instead the bell getting rung is me getting stabbed and the dog salivating is noctis summoning god
> 
> ANYWAY!!! if you liked the read, feel free to leave a comment, some kudos, or hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary) or give me a [lil yell](http://brosura.tumblr.com/ask) on [tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/)! 
> 
> thanks for coming by!!


End file.
